In Her Place
by quillmetbymoonlight
Summary: In the middle of a difficult case, there's something that Beckett can't do. So Castle does it for her. Sometime in Season 4, before "47 Seconds".


She had withdrawn again. Far past her normal professional distance. This case was getting to her, and too much so for his peace of mind. Brittle wouldn't help her or the little girl sitting in the conference room, silent and unseeing.

He wanted to say something, anything that would bleed the tension from her body. But what could he say that wasn't a lie? He couldn't tell her that the little girl would be fine, that she would recover from what she saw, because they both knew she wouldn't, not fully. He couldn't tell her that the little girl wasn't her, because she wasn't Alexis either, and all he could see in his mind was Alexis superimposed with the girl–both suffering.

If she could only cry and release the emotions she kept bottled up inside. But that wasn't her style, and giving in to such an emotional display could result in a disastrous loss of focus. He understood and he agreed; if only her unacknowledged pain didn't rip at his heart so. All he could do was be strong and have her back. On that thought, he started; just slightly, but enough to cause Beckett to jerk her eyes away from the witness to glance at him.

Castle's thoughts raced, distracting him from her sudden brief scrutiny. Maybe that was it. Maybe he didn't need to be strong for her. After all, wasn't that part of the problem? That she was being too strong? Maybe what she needed was him to be _weak_ for her.

Castle was quiet on the drive back to the precinct. Too quiet for Beckett, if her glances were any indication. Unsure of how to deal with this silent Castle, she simply kept driving. Once at the precinct, Beckett went straight to her computer and began inputting data. Castle sat in his usual chair at her side, choosing not to make his habitual smart aleck quips. Instead, he did what he had been trying not to do since this case began. He focused on his mental image of the little girl, noting every detail, weaving the story. And placing Alexis in the girl's place.

An involuntary, shaky breath shuttered through his body. _Yeah_. This was why he was a best-selling novelist; he was good. _Too good._ And they were still in public. _Slow down, back up._ A complete breakdown in the middle of the bullpen would be counterproductive. Not to mention embarrassing.

As he focused internally, pulling himself back from the edge of a meltdown, Castle was oblivious to Beckett. He had never been oblivious to her before today. Inattentive during those times he went on a rant, and clueless in the way only a man could be about a woman...but oblivious? Never.

Awareness of her trickled back into his consciousness, and he felt a glimmer of apprehension. If this didn't work, it could backfire spectacularly. He could lose every ounce of respect he had managed to wheedle from her. He could (_should?)_ stop this now. And risk watching _her_ shatter.

She sat there, openly staring at him, the computer work forgotten. _Definitely concerned_. He looked over into her eyes and found that he couldn't hold her gaze. It was too intense; she was too determined to know his mind.

"Castle?" Beckett spoke softly, instinctively knowing that this–whatever this was–wasn't for general consumption.

"Yeah, Beckett?" He, too, kept his voice low, but they could both hear the waver in it.

"Are...are you okay?"

"I...it's late. I think I would like to go home." As he stood, his foot caught on the leg of the chair and he stumbled a little, catching himself on her desk.

"Castle?" Unthinkingly, she placed her hand on his. "Do you want me to take you home?"

His voice was barely a whisper, but it slammed into her like a freight train. "Please."

The ride to his loft was quiet. Beckett drove quickly, but carefully, managing to avoid the worst of New York traffic. She had driven this route before. But this time, she seemed to sit closer to him, her hand resting on the centre console, just brushing against his. He could feel her warmth, and her tenseness.

She parked, getting out with him. As they started up the sidewalk, he noticed that she didn't take point as was her wont, but stayed at his side, her hand hovering behind his back, almost, but never quite touching. They reached the door of the loft and Castle unlocked the door, his hands unsteady enough to make the keys clink.

He stepped inside the door and paused, realising that she made no move to follow him. "Beckett?" he prompted.

She started, "Alexis...?"

He shook his head. "Is with Paige this weekend. Mother took some of her students on a retreat." He looked into her eyes, hoping that he wasn't giving too much away. "Please. I don't want to be alone tonight." Unspoken and unheard was _You don't want to be alone tonight_.

She nodded, almost perfunctorily, and stepped inside.

Once inside, Castle began the mundane duties of a host: coats and shoes in the coat closet, glasses of wine and a tray of snacks set out on the coffee table. And yet, for all the normality of the tasks, it was made abnormal by Castle's silence; the lights he didn't turn on, leaving them in dusky shadows; and Beckett's acquiescence. Soon, they were both seated on the sofa, their wine sipped more from the need for something to do then any real desire for the wine itself.

"Alexis' hair was paler when she was little, more strawberry-blond than red." He spoke without much inflection, simply stating a fact.

"Alexis isn't the one sitting down at the precinct. She's safe." Her voice was quiet but sharp, almost defiant.

"I know." He sipped his wine. "There, but for the grace of God..." He spoke disparagingly and shook his head. "I've done so many stupid things in my life. Any of which–" He broke off abruptly as her wineglass clattered on the coffee table and her other hand grabbed his arm painfully.

"Castle! You can't think that way! You–" It was her turn to break off when she saw the single tear sliding down his face.

They stared into each others eyes for a moment, then she shifted, turning to sit close beside him; their legs pressed against each other. She laid her head against his shoulder and began to rub her hand softly, comfortingly, up and down his arm.

As he allowed himself to release, quietly, the emotions brought about by the day, she strove to comfort him, giving him all the focus that she did one of her murder suspects. He leaned into her, careful not to intrude too far, but needing to be selfish just a bit. His care and focus may have been (and would always be) her, but he too was only human, and this case had been bad from the beginning. He relaxed into her soothing administrations and felt her too begin to relax. Her tension bled away in time with his, though hers were in far excess of his.

Minutes passed. Her hand slowed its strokes on his arm. An hour, and it stilled completely. He looked down at the woman, the most beautiful, challenging woman he had ever known, sleeping against him, and smiled. With a grace born of eighteen years of fatherhood, he slipped carefully out from beneath her. Gently, he laid her down on the sofa, smiling again as she turned into the pillow, one hand curling up by her cheek. Swiftly and silently, he grabbed a spare blanket and tucked her in.

Morning would come soon and Detective Katherine Beckett would return, leaving this soft, vulnerable, fragile woman behind only as a memory. But it would be _his_ Detective Katherine Beckett and together they would find this murderer and give justice to that lost child down at the precinct. And that was worth the pain.


End file.
